


When Sleep Won't Come

by tempered_rose



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Bayern München, Beginnings, Crushes, Friendship, Gen, German National Team, M/M, Male Friendship, Sharing a Room, Sleep, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, implied Thomas/Miro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lahmy has an annoying (to Thomas) habit about keeping the TV on when the young man is trying to sleep. What could possibly go wrong? Also, there's Miro/Thomas crushing going on for a hot second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Sleep Won't Come

**Author's Note:**

> *taps microphone* is this still working? Ohai. It's me. I haven't written fic in a long time (properly, I know T.T) but…lack of inspiration will do that, y'know. Anyway, this fic is dedicated to the lovely and extremely patient Elma (happy belated birthday, my love) and Leon (and Max) who all three pushed and prodded and wouldn't let me disappear. You are all patient beyond all imagining and I hope this doesn't suck. :X
> 
> Concrit welcome, reviews are much loved.

It was just a stupid little film that didn’t matter, just something to be on in the background while the night carried on. Thomas could remember the first time he ever roomed with the Captain, all those years ago, and at first he didn’t understand it. How could anyone sleep in a room that wasn’t pitch black and silent? Why have a television on with noise going and the light on? It was distracting, unhelpful when it came to sleep. It annoyed Thomas and he hadn’t slept worse than when he shared for the first few times with Philipp.

He tried putting a pillow over his head to block out the sound. He would turn over in bed to face the wall with his back to the light-box, but that never worked. The flashing images would change the shadows on the wall and he could tell, even if his eyes were closed. And, more often than not, Thomas would find himself invested in the story and he would listen to what happened in the film (assuming, of course, he could understand what language the events were in). He would stubbornly refuse to watch and he never talked to Philipp about it. Lot of good that would do, he had thought. He would piss the captain off and get put on someone’s _list_ about being an insufferable wretch who was more trouble than he was worth.

So he stayed quiet about it and dealt with it. At least the Captain didn’t snore.

**

They were in Italy once and Thomas didn’t know what the hell was going on in the soap opera that was playing in the background. There appeared to be a lot of smut in this one because every so often—and it was more often than it wasn’t, it felt like—a woman would be gasping and moaning as if she were in the throes of passion. It got to be so bad, Thomas turned and looked over his shoulder to make sure that Philipp wasn’t watching porn. That would have been awkward in and of itself. How did one have _that_ conversation? When he looked over his shoulder, Thomas noticed two things. The first was, and most relieving he thought, was that the film was not a porn. It just apparently overly sexualized everything. And secondly, and probably for the best, was that Philipp was pretty much passed out with a hand over his chest and the sheets pulled down towards his waist. He was wearing a simple white cotton shirt and, Thomas remembered, simple plaid pajama pants.

Thomas took advantage of the fact the defender was fast asleep and looked him over. He was handsome, in his own cute way, and even more so when he was asleep. He looked more at peace, relaxed. Thomas had the privilege of knowing that Fips wasn’t always as serious and diligent as the media portrayed him to be. Yes, he loved his football and wanted to have everything perfect so that his teams would win championships and football matches. But he wasn’t always so stern-faced and stoic. He had his moments of silliness, just as everyone did, though, to be fair, Fips’ were a bit more far and few between. It was a shame, Thomas thought; he had such a nice smile.

He wasn’t sure how long he watched him for in that hotel room in Turin, but he fell asleep with his hands tucked underneath his chin and his eyes on Philipp’s bed.

**

For the most part, Thomas would room with Bastian. Basti was a good friend who entertained Mulli’s jovial mind and could keep up with his silliness and his joking nature. However—and this was not a bad thing at all, and Thomas fully acknowledged it as such—Bastian also knew when Thomas needed to dial it down a bit, calm down, and put the enthusiasm and energy into a compartment in his mind to save for another day. He was always kind about it and never did he and Thomas seem to fight about anything. Thomas loved that about Basti. They were simply good friends who could lighten one another up or make them face the reality of a situation without being rude or hurtful about it.

The only real negative of rooming with Bastian, if it could be counted as such, is that sometimes Thomas didn’t want to be around his best friend all the time. Sometimes, he needed his space; especially if he wanted some alone time to rub one out to something he had thought of, a fantasy he had conjured up in his mind. Masturbation wasn’t the only thing he wanted space for. Sometimes, he just liked to daydream and think about silly things that amused himself in ways that others would find stupid (like leprechauns riding on unicorns wearing princess crowns…no one else would understand why he couldn’t regain his breath from laughing so hard at the imagery).

Regardless, Basti was extremely special to Mulli in a way that could barely be described and the simplest explanation would be akin to something such as that they were the very best of friends and had the love and companionship of the best of brothers.

Occasionally, Thomas would room with the mighty Duck when Bastian was either injured and therefore not traveling with the team (sadly, this seemed to be a recurring theme these days) or when Basti would be moved around by the manager to give that wonderful peace of mind to a younger player or someone who needed that reassurance in some small way for whatever reason. Thomas didn’t mind Manu in the least; he was clean but didn’t mind so much if Thomas didn’t _immediately_ wash out that dish that he just ate cereal out of… Manu was quiet, though, and sometimes Thomas just wanted to talk. And talk, and talk, and keep going. Basti was very good about letting him carry on; even if Bastian wasn’t listening, he pretended very well. Manuel didn’t have this art mastered yet, and Thomas would feel himself getting frustrated about it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Manuel had this rather bad habit of clipping his toenails before bed— _snip, snip, snip_ every night (almost)—and Thomas thought Fips’ television watching would be more welcome than snip-snip-snip all the time.

If it wasn’t Bastian or Manuel and not for Bayern (at least, not since Miro went to Lazio and before he retired from die Mannschaft), then it would be Miroslav. That had been an entirely different level of awkward and uncomfortable.

The level of Thomas’ adoration bordered on almost stalker-level and his hero worship for Miroslav mixed horribly with the desire not to embarrass himself or make himself look stupid in any way. It was far more horrible than walking on eggshells or Legos. Miroslav, true to his nature, either didn’t notice (which Thomas highly, _highly_ doubted since it was so obvious he was in love with the older man) or was too well-mannered and polite to say anything about it (which was more realistic and probably true from the small half-amused, half-concerned looks the gentleman would give the young boy when Thomas undoubtedly stuck his foot in his own mouth by saying something dumb and stupid). Thomas tried to rationalize it once as he was made fun of in the Germans’ locker room; after all, it wasn’t like Thomas stared at Miroslav as he undressed and sniffed his underwear. He should have known better than to make a comment like that in a room full of teammates. Any body could walk in, and any body did. Namely Jogi and Miroslav. Thomas wondered if Miroslav counted his pairs of underwear after that to make sure Thomas hadn’t stolen a pair or something…

(He hadn’t.)

**

Rooming with Fips was somewhere in the realm of the organization and cleanliness of Manuel, but the respect and admiration level of Miroslav, just not as extreme. Where Ducky didn’t mind so much if dishes weren’t immediately washed, Philipp did mind. He was meticulous in his organization and preparations. Towels had to be hung up after showers, shoes needed to be put against a wall or in the closet next to their mates, and socks and other dirty clothes belonged in a hamper where they could be collected effortlessly and washed without issue. Some of the younger players who shall remain nameless (Julian, Christoph, and Erik) considered Fips to be a sufferer of obsessive compulsive disorder and, sometimes, Thomas could believe it.

Fips was also quiet the way Miroslav was. He preferred reading over listening to music or being loud and talking with literally every other team mate ever. He would come in from training or wherever they had just been and he would settle on the sofa or a chair with his laptop and catch up on the news, send some personal emails and then surf around for a while or just curl up with a book. Thomas was relegated to listening to his iPod or laptop with headphones securely in and if he was laughing too loud at whatever comedy special he was watching on Youtube, Philipp would glare at him until the burn reached through Thomas’ skull or, if he wasn’t noticing fast enough, a pillow would hit him square in the face.

It was in St Etienne for a friendly against France that Thomas finally had enough of the whole ‘watching movies to fall asleep’ thing and wanted to know what that was all about. It was somewhere around one thirty in the morning before the match and Thomas just couldn’t do it that night. He’d had a minor strain in training (he was okay, but it had hurt for a while) and Ducky had been telling him that he wasn’t covering the way he was supposed to (what the hell did a goalkeeper know about an attacking midfield position anyway? he sulked) and he and Basti hadn’t had lunch together (damn Poldi for stealing his best friend away). He just couldn’t do the soft-spoken French lady on television pleading for her Spanish lover to come back after finding out about her affair with the English guy (honestly? take the Spaniard over the English _any_ day) and he propped himself up on his elbow to look over in Fips’ general direction (at first, all he saw was a mound of pillows and if he wasn’t like a billion percent positive Fips was somewhere in there, he wouldn’t have said anything).

“Why do you watch movies to go to sleep?”

At first there was quiet and Thomas thought he may have misjudged his woken state. Perhaps Philipp was already asleep. Then the mound of pillows and blankets moved and Fips looked over, his hair a mess and pointed in every direction.

“I can’t sleep if it’s too quiet.”

Thomas frowned. “If you feel that way about it, I could keep talking…”

Fips laughed and Thomas felt his lip twitching into a smile, but he wasn’t sure why he was smiling. He hadn’t been trying to be funny.

“Does it bother you?”

After several years of rooming together, both for Bayern and Germany, Thomas could honestly say yes it did bother him. He almost hated sleeping in the same room as the Captain for that very reason.

“A bit.” He replied honestly, before he could think of something nicer to say. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll turn it off.” And he did. There was a small sound of the television turning off and the room was plunged into darkness. Thomas felt relieved; peace and quiet _at last_.

But the nagging guilt of having Philipp possibly unable to sleep now bugged him. So Thomas addressed the darkness in Philipp’s general direction.

“Why can’t you sleep if it’s too quiet?” He heard the rustle of the blankets, but he couldn’t see anything yet. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness.

“I don’t know. I just can’t. I’m not an insomniac or anything, but I just can’t sleep unless there’s some sort of noise in the background.” Philipp then lapsed off into quiet and Thomas chewed his lip, still feeling guilty about it.

“You can turn it back on if—”

“No, it’s fine.” Philipp interrupted and then continued, “you actually were the only one I left it on with. All the others made me turn it off after a couple nights sharing.”

His words didn’t make him feel any better, but Thomas did decide to drop it. Kind of. Not really.

“I mean it. I can keep talking. That way you have your background noise and I don’t have to feel like a jerk. Win, win situation I think.” Thomas nodded and hoped that Philipp would find it agreeable.

“Well, there’s only one problem with that. You actually say things that are interesting to listen to. Shit films on late night television never have anything good to say.”

Well it wasn’t often that someone found the ramblings of his mind very interesting. Thomas filed the compliment away for further reference (mainly to use when Ducky decided to tell him to shut the fuck up next time they would have to share a room). They stayed quiet for a while and Thomas’ mind was growing heavy with tiredness. He wanted to do well in the match and beat the French and score a load of goals and make everyone proud (you know, the usual). Only now, he felt bad that Fips couldn’t sleep.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Thomas asked quietly, anxiety finally getting to be too much, to which Fips threw a pillow in his direction. It caught him in the knee, thigh area. No where important.

“It’s fine, shut up about it. Go to sleep, captain’s orders.” Thomas could hear the smile in his voice and he felt slightly better.

“I can’t, I need a bed time story now.”

“Thomas, shut up and go to sleep or I’ll smother you with the pillow.”

“What if I was into that?”

Philipp didn’t immediately have an answer for that and Thomas started to laugh, the cloud of sleep getting pushed slightly further away as mirth overtook him. He was shaking with laughter, right up until the point where Philipp had gotten up and whacked him in the face with his pillow. Thomas, startled, stopped laughing for a moment as the pillow left his face and he could see from the smaller man’s silhouette that he was preparing for another blow to hit him again. Taking advantage of the fact he went to the gym (and actually worked on his arm muscles), Thomas slid his arm around Fips’ waist and hauled him into bed with him. The Captain hadn’t been expecting that and had a hard time figuring out how to hit Thomas with the pillow again.

Laughing at the absurdity of it all, Thomas adjusted his position in bed to let Fips lay down next to him. He still was chuckling but he laid on his back while pining the defender’s arms in a way that he couldn’t hit him or try and smother him with anything.

“Now _you_ go to sleep, Lahmy.” Thomas replied with a smile and he (Thomas thought anyway) lovingly kissed Fips on his forehead. Only, it wasn’t his forehead. It was the corner of his mouth near his lips.

The Captain shifted his mouth slightly and kissed Thomas almost chastely on the lips. The midfielder didn’t move but he was very surprised about the change in scenario. Philipp settled against Thomas’ side and didn’t make any move to go back to his own bed, even after Thomas had loosened his hold on the other man’s body.

“I don’t need background noise if I have someone to sleep next to.” The Captain said by way of excuse and Thomas finally recovered enough of his sanity, stretched as it was, to smile a little. He wrapped his arms around the defender and hugged him close. His mouth was somewhere near Fips’ ear.

“Well in that case… Good night, Lahmy.”

The smile was back in the Captain’s voice, much to Mulli’s delight.

“Good night, Thomas.”


End file.
